Chapter 32: The FBI Arrives

“I’m Darrel Masters ... Alex’s father,” my dad said as he stood to introduce himself, offering the agent his hand.

“Good to meet you, Sir,” said Agent Murphey.

“And I’m Alex Masters,” I said as I offered my hand as well. His grip was firm without being too strong. He looked me over as if memorizing my features and then shared a brief smile.

“I’m sorry to disturb your lunch, but we’ve had a hard time tracking you down the last six weeks,” he said.

“Won’t you join us, Agent Murphy?” my dad asked as we seated ourselves again. Agent Murphey looked around the restaurant tactically. I had seen Reggie’s agents all do this countless times. I’d have to ask him, or better yet, Andreza, sometime, what they were assessing. Apparently satisfied, Agent Murphy went around the four person table and seated himself with a clear view of the rest of the dining room and the door.

Dad signaled for the waitress.

“I noticed your badge, but do you mind if we see some identification?” dad asked as he pulled out his own driver’s license and laid it on the table. I pulled mine out, along with both my Swiss and French Diplomatic Passports.

When he handed dad his laminated FBI ID, dad simply nodded at me. I took the ID and laid it beside my smartphone and pressed number four on my speed dial. I left the phone on speaker so both Dad and Agent Murphy could hear my call.

“This is the White House. How may we help you?” the voice intoned pleasantly.

“My name is Alex Masters. I was instructed to call this number when the FBI arrived,” I replied.

“Were you given a code?” she asked.

“Zero-two-two-three-two-zero-two-one,” I replied.

“One moment, Sir,” she said as she placed me on hold.

“Mr. Masters, this is Priscilla. The Chief Of Staff is currently with the President. He asked that you speak with the Attorney General. Would you please hang on while I connect you?”

“Of course,” I replied. I noticed Agent Murphey’s eyebrows began to arch. I was sure that he realized that the Attorney General was who the Director of the FBI reported to.

“Amanda Susieta,” the voice on the phone said.

“Alexander Masters, Mrs. Susieta,” I replied. “I have an agent before me and I am trying to verify his identity.”

“Do you have his ID number?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Number R-7-7-4-8-9-3-X-B,” I read from his ID card.

“Sean William Murphy. Let’s see ... Thirty-two years old. Six foot five, 235 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, visible scar on his left ear and inside left arm. Also has tattoo on right bicep, the letters U.S.M.C. He spent sixteen years in the Marines, in various theaters, most of which are redacted from this file. Honorably discharged three years ago. Joined FBI, three years ago. Recently promoted to S.A.C. Oklahoma City desk, as of February first, this year.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Susieta,” I replied.

“Oh, it also says he’s a real cutie. He has a mole on his left hip and it says you should ask him about getting shot in the ass sometime,” she said with a laugh.

“That’s enough, Aunt Mandy!” Agent Murphey growled.

“You just take real good care of our Alex, Murph. I think that Anita’s secretly in love with him!” Mrs. Susieta giggled.

“Goodbye, Aunt Mandy. My love to everybody,” Murph said.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Susieta,” I said, amazed.

“After this, you had better call me Mandy,” she told me. “After all, you call my cousin Anita and take her on wonderfully romantic cruises to exotic ports of call!”

I could hear her giggling as she hung up.

“At least I now know why I drew this assignment,” Murph said with an exasperated half-smile.

“Why is that?” my dad asked.

“Normally, Wichita is covered out of the Kansas City office. However, my dad is an Admiral in the Pentagon, my mom is an assistant to the Secretary of State, you just spoke to my mom’s sister and Anita Dexter is my cousin. My boss warned me that I might have to handle some of the more ‘political’ assignments,” he called them, using air quotes around the word political.

“Well, what did your family tell you about me?” I asked.

Murph looked around the dining room. There were very few patrons left and no one within hearing distance. Even the staff seemed to have deserted us. We were practically alone.

“My ‘family’ said for me to be gentle with you and make sure you were well protected. My boss wants your version of what happened on April 30^th. We have interviewed everyone else that was there, and so far all their stories support each other’s. We only need your official testimony and to clear up a few details and we should be able to put this investigation to rest.”

“What about all those guys with guns?” I asked.

“They’ve been back in Russia since the first week of May,” he said. “Those guys will never stand trial in America!”

“Some kind of prisoner exchange?” my dad asked.

“Oh, no! They were wanted over there too!” he said. “Probably more than they were wanted here. This was mostly a political move on the part of the White House and the State Department.”

“Political move?” I asked, not understanding.

“Now you see why they picked me to finish this case. There is a lot that cannot be adequately explained in the FBI’s final report,” he grinned. “The only thing left now is how Obnizov and Alsahra’ died. We know that they weren’t killed by Taser fire. We hope you can help us understand what really happened.”

I looked at dad’s watch and then at Agent Murphy.

“Hopefully, I’ll be able to answer that question in about ten minutes. Why don’t we see if we can find that waitress and order some lunch. I’m starved,” I told him. My dad then excused himself and went in search of the waitress. They returned just moments later and we ordered. I also ordered two cups of hot tea, which the waitress found unusual since we were all drinking iced tea.

While we waited, I told Murph to go ahead and pull out his recorder and I began to tell him my story, starting back on that fateful March day when the Desert Flower blew up the Serendipity.

Then skipping over my travels in Texas, I picked up again in Zurich when Reggie’s group tracked down the Desert Flower and hatched the scheme for me to play in an open qualifier that was to be held on the course where Obnizov had his mini-fortress. I explained that our hope had been to draw the elusive assassin out into the open.

I told Murph how Reggie had discovered the block of tickets Obnizov had ordered for the open qualifier and surmised that he was having his group all together for that weekend. Then I told him how we planned to let leak out after my practice round, that I would be playing in the qualifier on Monday.

Of course, best laid plans of mice and men and all that, but somehow, mostly by accident, the Desert Fox was there earlier than we anticipated and spotted me Friday afternoon when I was playing my practice round.